


earl grey

by villhag



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, KE Week 2020, Killing Eve Week Day 3 - Soft, its all very nice and cute and canon-compliant, post 3x08, soft, villanelle makes eve tea and they talk about things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villhag/pseuds/villhag
Summary: “Ah, sleeping beauty finally wakes.”Eve’s torn entirely from her haze by the sound of that voice, its light, teasing intonations. Of course, she had forgotten entirely―she was not a pariah alone. She had brought along company. Or, better put, company had brought along her.OR: For KE Week Day 3, Soft.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 15
Kudos: 166
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	earl grey

A kettle is whistling. 

It’s the first thing Eve hears, the sharp sound jarring her from sleep. Her eyes take their time to adjust, flitting around her surroundings: a tiny attic bedroom, peeling wallpaper, a single window, opened just a crack. It lets a chill breeze inside, the unmistakable bite of an early winter morning. 

It looks, all together, like a bandit’s hideaway. A pitiful refuge. She spreads her arms along the comforter beneath her, a deflating air mattress pressed into hardwood floors. Her back aches, her legs too. Nothing reveals age like sleeping on a shoddy bed. 

“Ah, sleeping beauty finally wakes.”

Eve’s torn entirely from her haze by the sound of that voice, its light, teasing intonations. Of course, she had forgotten entirely―she was not a pariah alone. She had brought along company. Or, better put, company had brought along her.

Villanelle pads softly into the make-shift bedroom, her slippers floating over errant nails and cracked hardwood panels. She’s carrying two full cups of tea like a proper waitress, setting them down on the mattress as she kneels beside her.

“Hi,” she whispers, her features softening. 

Eve swallows, takes in reality as it dawns on her.

“Hi.”

Villanelle smiles, bites her lip. 

“Do you like Earl Grey?”

Eve laughs. Because how could she do anything else?

“Are you really asking me that?”

Villanelle frowns, but it is affectionate. She holds Eve’s tea in front of her.

“Of course. Is that so weird?”

Eve takes the tea and sips. She does not miss the way Villanelle follows her expression, holding onto it like a lifeline. Even in something as simple as an exchange of boiled water, the yearning is there, a dire, unending need to please. Eve still revels in it, after all this time.

“A little. Our conversations usually involve a bit more…”

“Murder? Betrayal? Espionage?”

Villanelle chuckles. And really, in the scheme of things, it is funny. How entirely insane.

“Yes. God, we’re nuts,” Eve laughs. The tea is starkly warm compared to the drafty bedroom, and she shivers.

Villanelle’s hand instinctively finds her arm, and Eve’s stomach turns. She wasn’t sure when she’d get used to _that_. They had touched plenty―but never with intent, never with a reason beyond manipulation or haphazard power plays. This was different. 

“You are nervous,” Villanelle diagnoses. She runs her thumb across Eve’s forearm.

“No. I’m cold.”

“Hm. They are not mutually exclusive,” Villanelle smirks. Eve sees through the bravado. Villanelle’s own skin is gooseflesh, her touch apprehensive.

“Well, we are being chased by _two_ international organizations. So, sue me.”

“Exactly. So there is no more point in being dishonest, if we are to die so soon anyway.”

Eve rolls her eyes, but the point is oddly, tragically fair.

“Fine,” Eve clears her throat, “you make me nervous.”

The admittance floats in the air. Villanelle raises an eyebrow, edges her on.

“That is not news. You once threatened my life with a toilet brush.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not just you. _This_ makes me nervous.”

Villanelle’s hand halts its gradual trek down Eve’s arm.

Eve registers the confusion immediately, the latent fear. It lives in the shadows of Villanelle’s eyes, prey masquerading poorly as predator.

“Stop overthinking it,” Eve adds quickly, rolling her eyes, “I’m not leaving.” 

“Is this when you say, _but I am not staying, either?”_ Villanelle jokes, but it is not really a joke.

“No.”

And it’s the truth. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Villanelle studies her, rakes over Eve’s face. Eve feels it like a firebrand.

“Okay.”

And then Villanelle smiles: a quiet, tight-lipped expression, but bright as an exploding star. Eve finds that she adores the look like nothing else; it is new, seeing Villanelle get exactly what she wants.

“God―you are so,” Eve starts, and stops.

This attention refuels Villanelle, anxiety replaced by genuine ego. 

“Beautiful?”

“Shut up.”

“Gorgeous? Attentive? Excellent at brewing tea? I can grab a thesaurus, if that would help.”

“Good, go get it. I need something to hit you with.”

Villanelle cackles, a throaty, ridiculous thing. It sounds like heaven.

“Okay. Then what am I, Eve?”

Villanelle sips her tea. Finds Eve’s eyes and keeps them. How greedy of her―to have Eve so completely trapped. Enwrapped. 

In love.

“A pain in my ass.”

Villanelle groans. She moves to leave in protest, but Eve’s arm quickly stops her, wrapping around her middle and tugging her back down. The near-empty tea cups clink between them, but that’s the last thing from her mind. Eve couldn’t care less if they shattered, spilled, ruined the sheets, had them swimming in molten hot water.

She is concerned with one thing in singularity, and that was Villanelle’s lips: pressed into hers with the urgency of a bullet. Hands cascade through Eve’s hair, skim tenderly around her jaw, curl around her neck. Eve had dreamed of this kiss for years, awake and asleep, and yet nothing could have prepared her―

Villanelle inhales sharply as Eve’s hands tug her in, a desperate embrace.

“Eve…”

How naive she had been. To think she could run away with Villanelle and not be utterly destroyed in the process. 

Eve breaks the kiss, breathing unevenly as she finds Villanelle’s eyes.

“Earl Grey is fine, but I like Sencha better.”

Villanelle shakes her head, glowing. She pushes Eve down, toppling them into the comforter.

“I’ll remember that.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> btw: i’m always open for prompts on twitter! find me at @villhag


End file.
